Lestrade and the Boy
by cornelia.schuitema
Summary: The first time Lestrade met Sherlock, the consulting detective was six years old and lived on the streets. I do not own Sherlock Holmes or any of the characters. They belongs to the BBC and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.
1. Chapter 1

**The first time Lestrade met Sherlock, the consulting detective was six years old and lived on the streets.**

November 1990

It was a rainy morning, Sergeant Gregory Lestrade was on is way to work. It was early, only a little past six in the morning and he was alone at the tube station, well almost alone. As he went up the stairs he heard music, it echoed between the walls, and he went towards the sound, curious. As he went around a corner he stopped in surprise. It was a little boy who played, he stood there all alone with his violin. Lestrade recognised the piece as Nearer my God to thee, and he thought that it was a strange thing for a young boy to play. He listened to the boy a few minutes, he was talented.

"What's your name son?" the boy looked up at him without stop playing.

"Sherlock Holmes..." he said.

Soon Lestrade had to go, he gave the boy five pounds, because he didn't have any change, and started to leave.

"See you later Sergeant!"the boy called after him, starting to play God save the queen.

Lestrade turned around and looked one last time at the boy. Sherlock was dressed in a long black coat and had a blue scarf around his neck. It wasn't until later he wondered how Sherlock had known that he was a Sergeant.

Later that day as he had quit work and was on his way home, he saw Sherlock again. He stood on the same place as he had done in the morning. But as the tube station was full of people, he now played a fast piece of music, Mozart's Turkish March. Lestrade stayed and listened to him, he wanted to know more about the boy. The first thing he saw was that the boy didn't have any music sheets. He played everything by heart. Then he saw how thin the boy was. He must have it hard at home, poor family maybe. As he left he hoped that the boy would be back the next morning. But he didn't see the boy in nearly a year.


	2. Chapter 2

June 1991

It was a sunny afternoon when Sergeant Lestrade got called to the crime scene of a shooting. It was really weird, because he wasn't even working that day. As he arrived at the scene, DI Gregson ran up to him.

"Sorry, I know you're off duty...but this in this shooting, there was a child. I do not know if he is shot...but he was here and we need to talk to him. But he wont even let us come close, as if he is scared... he only says he want Sergeant Lestrade to come." They started walking towards some trees that stood in one of the corners of the scene.

"Wait! Is it somebody I know?" Sergeant Lestrade asked. He hardly knew any kids at all. And no one that lived here in London.

"Don't know..."the DI said"but give it a try, would you?" He walked away and left Lestrade alone under the trees.

Lestrade looked up at them, unsure what to do. Then he saw someone in the tree above him. Way up almost at the top. He gasped as he recognised the mop of black hair and the black coat, it was him! The kid from the tube, Sherlock.

Sherlock looked down at him, fear filled his eyes and Lestrade could see that he had been crying, even as the boy tried not to show it. His face was pale, like really pale. Deathly pale. Lestrade smiled at him, and after a few seconds Sherlock smiled back.

"Hey Sherlock... Why don't you come down?" The boy shrugged at this starting to climb higher up in the tree.

"Wait! Sherlock I just want to talk to you...okay...just you and me..." He waited a moment and then he saw Sherlock starting to climb down again.

As the boy came closer, he saw how bad he really looked. His lower left side is soaked, in something that only could be blood, and his whole body is trembling. As he hangs in his arms to jump down to the ground, he just can't cope any longer. He loses his grip and falls.

Lestrade is just in time to catch him before he hits the ground. He sits down on the ground with the trembling boy in his lap. He looks after a wound and sees, to his relief that the blood didn't belong to the boy.

"Sherlock, why didn't you come down?" The boy looks up a him and mumbles something not understandable.

"What? What did you say?" The little boy turns his head away from him.

"I...don't like doctors..." Sergeant Lestrade stands up with Sherlock in his arms, and he slowly starts to go towards the ambulances. He knew that he had to get the boy checked out by the paramedics, Sherlock probably was in shock, and he wanted to make sure he was okay.

"I know...me neither. But the doctors are nice, and I'll be with you okay?" The boy in his arms nodded, but his whole body continued to tremble, of what Lestrade guessed was fear.

He takes Sherlock to the ambulance and gets him examined by the doctors, the whole time Sherlock sits in his lap, holding his hand.

Lestrade got permission to take Sherlock home a few hours later. During the whole time the boy had been sitting silently in his lap. . As he had asked the boy about where his parents where, the boy only had looked away in silence. He instead asked where Sherlock lived, but this time the boy looked him in the eyes for the first time.

"I live in London..." he whispered. Lestrade chuckled a little at this.

"Yes, I know that Sherlock. But where in London?" Sherlock looked at him confused at this, like he don't understand the question. It almost looks like he thinks Lestrade is stupid.

"Just London..."he states.

"Okay Sherlock. Why don't you show me where you live?" The little boy thinks for a second, and then he stands up and grabs Lestrade's hand.

As they comes gets out from the ambulance Sherlock walks in to a dark alley and then he guides Lestrade trough a labyrinth of back alleys and small streets. They soon arrives at the Themes, and Sherlock continue to walk by it. They walked by the river for almost an hour, out of central London and into the poor neighbourhoods outside.

Suddenly Sherlock began to walk away from the river, up towards a small group of old houses. He walked up to one of them, but instead of going in trough the door, he walked up to a window and shut it open. He signed to Lestrade to follow him and climbed trough it into the house.

Lestrade climbed in after him. Wondering why they didn't use the door. As he came inside the house he was stunned by the state of it. It wasn't dirty, or something like that. But it was empty, no chairs, no tables, nothing. He followed the boy upstairs, it creaked beneath his feet.

Upstairs it was almost as empty as downstairs, but the room they entered had four bunk beds in it and as Lestrade looked into an other room he saw that the room was filled with bookshelves and books.

"Hello, guys I'm back now!" the little boy shouted to the, what it seemed like, empty house."You can come out, Sergeant Lestrade wont hurt you."

And out of nowhere a boy came running towards them. He must have been two or three years older than Sherlock. After him came a young girl, about thirteen years old. Behind her walked two young children who couldn't be more than three or four years old. From the room to their left came five more children running. Three girls and two boys, all of them about six or seven years old. All of them greeted Sherlock with shouts and laughs, and the youngest of them hugged him. Lestrade stood at the door, and didn't know what to think. Who where this children, and where was their parents. All of them dressed in dirty ill fitting clothes, and all of them was a little too skinny to be well looking.

"Who are you?" someone behind him suddenly asked, Lestrade jumped, because he hadn't even heard someone getting up the stairs.

Lestrade turned around and saw a boy standing behind him. He was older than the rest of the children, maybe fifteen or sixteen. He had carried a bag with him, but as he had seen the Sergeant he had put it down and now walked towards the man with clenched fists.

"No Mycroft! He's nice, I brought him here." Sherlock walked up beside the boy called Mycroft and whispered something in his ear.

Sherlock looked at Mycroft with pleading eyes. The older boy seemed to think a second, but then he nodded. Sherlock looked glad about that, and he turned back towards the other children. He walked up to Lestrade and grabbed his hand.

"This is Sergeant Lestrade, he helped me, so there is no need to be afraid." the children still looked scared as they looked at him.

As Lestrade took a closer look at them he saw that none of them seemed to be related with each other, only Sherlock and the older boy Mycroft, and maybe the two youngest. The boy and the girl that were three or four years old. All of them stood close to each other like a scared group of animals, searching after protection from each other.

"This is Jonathan" Sherlock said and pointed at the older of the boys,"and that is Ella" the boy continued pointing at the oldest of the girls.

"Those two is called Sammy and Ellie"Sherlock said pointing at the two youngest of the children."And the others is called Jackie, Robin, Lisa, Chloe and Molly. You already know Mycroft's name."

Lestrade looked at the children, they all looked back at him. Studying him with curious eyes. Some of the younger children hide behind the older ones. One of the youngest, Sammy he thought, walked up to him. He stopped about two yards away from the young Sergeant.

"Why are you 'ere?" he asked. The little boy looked at him, almost frightened.

Lestrade didn't answer immediately, wondering what he should say. All the children stared at him, waiting for him to answer. It was only Mycroft who didn't, he picked up the bag again an turned around to walk downstairs.

"Sherlock showed me here..."he said, looking at the children and then around the room. Looking after signs of any parent or other grown-up."Where are your mum and dad?"

By the looks he got from the kids, that might not have been the best question. The most of them looked sad, and two of the youngest started crying.

"We don't 'ave mummies and daddies..."one of the girls said."They didn't want us...they left..." An other girl looked from the floor.

"My daddy was mean...mummy left him...I run away..."

Slowly Lestrade started to realise the situation. This children were street kids, homeless. All of them, they had either run away or been left by their parents. Why weren't they at an orphanage, or in foster families?

"Do you live here alone?" he asked."all by your selves, how do you get food, and money?"

It was Ella that answered.

"All of us earn money in different ways." she said," Sherlock plays the violin, as does me and Sammy and Ellie. Jackie, Robin and Jonathan works at the docks and Chloe and Molly helps Mrs Hudson in her store. Mycroft works at the library. He buys us food before he comes home... and he teaches us school stuff."

"But you can't live alone..."Lestrade said,"you need to go to school, and to have a family...you could live in foster families, you would have a better life like that..."

The children looked at him as if he was mad. Sherlock pulled his sleeve and as he looked down at the boy, Lestrade saw that he was looking almost angry.

"But they would separate us Sergeant Lestrade..."he whispered,"we want to live here, together."

Lestrade tried to talk to them, he suggested that he could call social service, but at that Mycroft had forced him to leave, claiming that they should go to bed.

Lestrade left the house and started to walk back home. His head was full of thoughts, the children had told him more about their life. All of them had lived on the streets a long time. Sammy and Ellie for one year, and all the others for at least two years. Sherlock and Mycroft had been on the streets the longest, Sherlock hadn't been more than three years old when their father threw them out.

The next day he got back to the house, he had earlier called the social service and they were with him. But as they got inside the house, it was empty. The bunk beds didn't have any sheets in them, and the bookshelves was empty.

The only thing left in the house was a few old tin cans and a note. The note lay in one of the bunk beds. Lestrade picked it up.

_'I told you we didn't want to leave' _it read, in the sprawling writing style of a young child.

It took two years before he saw any of the children again.


	3. Chapter 3

September 1993

During the years since he had met Sherlock and the children, he had been looking for them. He had looked for any of the children in the tubes, in old houses. He had even asked other homeless if they knew anything about the homeless children. But he had got nothing.

One early afternoon he saw someone though. He was walking home from the tube when he saw two young children walking a few yards ahead of him. Both of them were carrying violin cases and had dirty clothes that was to big for them. They soon stopped and picked up their violins and started to play.

As he got closer, he recognised the children. It was two of the children he had met with Sherlock. Ellie and...Sam? Samuel? Sammy it was. They looked like they were around six years old now. He wondered were they had been, this past two years. If they had been in London. Where they lived now...

The two children looked up, and they saw him. Before he could do anything to stop them, they had picked up their violin cases, and started to run away, down the street. He tried to caught up with them but they disappeared around a corner and he didn't know where they went afterwards.

January 1994

It was early the Christmas morning, Sergeant Lestrade was going to work. It was a shame thet he had to work at Christmas, but someone had to. As usual, the tube station was empty at this time in the morning.

But just as the morning three years ago, as he went up the stairs, he heard music. It was the slowly tunes of a violin, echoing between the walls. And just as the last time he walked towards the sound. Could it be...

He walked around a corner, yes it was... Sherlock stood there, alone like last time. He was longer then before, he had grown at least 8 inches. His curly dark hair was longer than ever, and reached his shoulders. He wore a black long coat, just like the first time they met. He also had the blue scarf. He looked up as he heard Lestrade coming towards him. The Sergeant saw that he was skinnier than ever, and he had dark shadows under his eyes.

"Oh...Hello Sergeant..."

Sherlock continued to play. The piece he played was slow, sad. The boy looked sad too. Lestrade stopped in front of him, and listened to the music. It was a beautiful piece. But it was really sad. It looked like...the boy let out his feelings trough the music.

Sherlock finished the piece. He looked at Lestrade again, and the Sergeant saw that he had tears in his eyes. Then, suddenly the boy lay down the violin an its case and run up to him. The little boy threw his arms around Lestrade's waist. Lestrade lay his arms around the boy and hugged him back.

"What is it Sherlock? What has happened...?" he fell to his knees in front of the crying boy "...hey...look at me... What is it Sherlock?"

Sherlock looked up at him and met his gaze. The icy blue eyes looked straight at him, straight trough him.

"Myc-...Mycroft is...he's gone..."The little boy sobbed."...I don't...know where he is..."

Lestrade pulled Sherlock closer, hugging him harder.

"Okay Sherlock...tell me what happened" he said as calm as he could, looking down at the boy."How long has he been missing?"

"He...never...came 'ome yesterday..."Sherlock looked back up at him."He said that he would get home...at five...but he never did."

The little boy continued to sob, and Lestrade didn't really know what to do. He really had to go to work. But he couldn't just leave Sherlock alone. He had become quite fond of the little boy.

"Okay...Sherlock..."He said standing up and taking he boy's hand in his."You show me where you live, and I promise that I'll help you find your brother, okay?"

The boy nodded and picked up the violin case and together they walked up the stairs and out on the street. They turned into an alley and over again he found himself guided through a labyrinth of back alleys and small streets.

This time they didn't walk for long before Sherlock suddenly stopped before an old warehouse. They walked around it to the back of the house. There it was a small shed and they walked inside.

The inside of the shed was messy, really messy. The floor was covered in old newspapers and along the walls were old blankets and clothes. There where only three other people inside beside from them. It was the two young children he had seen last year year, Sammy and Ellie, and one of the other boys who was about the same age as Sherlock, maybe a year younger.

"Hello...Sammy, Ellie... Jackie..." Sherlock greeted, not sounding very happy."Have you seen Mycroft?" Neither of them answered nor even moved.

At last Jackie looked up. He shook his head slowly. Sherlock suddenly looked much sadder than before. He sat down beside the others and draw one of the blankets around him.

"Where are the others Sherlock?" Lestrade sat down in front of the children.

"They're gone..." come the answer and Lestrade looked at the boy confused."The social service got them..."

"All of them? Are you sure?" Lestrade asked.

The children nodded. He signed, maybe that was good, but it seemed like it only had made the situation worse for the kids. They looked skinnier than the last time, and all of them had dark shadows under their eyes. They where pale and their clothes was dirty and smelled awful.

It was ice cold inside the shed. The last house had been warm but this, it was freezing. Lestrade started shivering just by thinking about sleeping in there.

Suddenly the door to the shed opened, and the icy wind blow inside. Lestrade turned around and saw a young man, or maybe an old boy walking inside. He looked like he was around eighteen years old and he carried a big box in his arms.

"Mycroft!"Sherlock cried and he run up to the young man, jumping into his arms."You're back! I thought something had happened to you..."

Mycroft dropped the box and wrapped his arms around the little boy.

"Of course I am back...I always come back Sherlock" he held the crying boy tight against his chest and stroke his hair."I always come back Sherlock...I would never leave you...ever...nothing will happen to me..."

He put Sherlock down and picked up the box again. He gave it to Sherlock with a smile on his face.

"Happy birthday brother dear!" he whispered and pulled the now smiling boy into a hug.

* * *

**AN: the song I imagined that Sherlock played at the tube station this time is Sad Romance by Thao Nguyen Xanh ** watch?v=QuNhTLVgV2Y&feature=related


	4. Authors note

**Authors note:**

**This is just an authors note I had to write when I realised my mistake in the last chapter.**

**When you read it you might got confused, because first I wrote that it was January 1994 and then suddenly I am writing that it is Christmas day. It is NOT because I think that Christmas is in January, because I am not stupid, I might be an idiot (practically everyone is), but I know which month Christmas is.**

**But when I started with the chapter I first wanted to write a Christmas story. But then I got the idea about Sherlock's birthday, and I wrote that story instead, but without changing the beginning where I wrote that it was Christmas. I am very sorry for that but I promise I will try not to do it again!**


	5. Chapter 4

February 1994

Nearly a month had past since Sherlock's birthday. He had met the children twice since. He had gone there, to make sure they stayed alive. He gave them food, and talked to them. He had met Sherlock more often. Since the boy's birthday he had seen him once or twice a week. Always at the same spot, at the tube station on his way to work. Lestrade hadn't even bothered about trying to call the social service again. He knew that the kids would be long gone before they could get there. Last time he saw them he had asked them if they wanted to come and stay at his flat. It wasn't big, but he hated the thought about them sleeping in the cold shed. All of them had immediately stopped eating and started to stare at him in silence. It was Sherlock who had spoke first.

"But Sergeant Lestrade..."he had said, "we can't do that, we would be in you way...and all of us can not sleep on the couch. It is to small, you can barely sleep there yourself!"

"How...how did you know I sleep on the couch?" Lestrade had asked curiously, the boy hadn't even been in his flat, did he even know where he lived?"You do not even know where I live!"

"Yes I do!"the boy answered" all of us do." The other children had nodded.

"But how did you know that I didn't sleep in a bed?"

"Because of your neck!"

"My neck?!"

"Yes, and your clothes" Sherlock had said exited."You hold your neck stiff, like it hurts. But you haven't been to a doctor to look it up. So you probably know why it hurts, and then your clothes are wrinkled, so you probably slept in them for a while after you got home for work today...if you had had a bed to sleep in you would have slept in it, but without your work clothes. And you have dark shadows under your eyes like you have slept badly... it could be that you have a bad bed, but no... last time you were here it looked like you had slept fine... and yesterday I saw that you bought a new bed... you wouldn't do that if you didn't absolutely need to, so your old bed is broken. Since then you have slept on the couch, and it is uncomfortable and too short and there for your neck is stiff."

"Wow Sherlock..." Lestrade had said surprised at the boy's deduction."...that was...wow..."

Lestrade had left the house about an hour later. He hadn't been able to convince the children to come to his flat.

Now it was two weeks since he had seen them, and he decided to go back to the shed, and ask them again if they wanted to come. His bed had arrived now and if they wanted he would let them sleep in his flat, at least until Mycroft got a better work and they could hire one by their own.

As he got to the shed the door was open, and inside it looked like someone had left in a hurry. Newspapers and tin cans was all over the place and in one of the corners was a forgotten blanket. Lestrade walked inside and picked up a note that lay on the floor. He read it and chuckled a little, the children, or maybe Sherlock had outsmarted him again.

_'I did tell you we didn't want to come...'_

Although Lestrade looked for the kids and asked other homeless, and the social service. He didn't hear or see of them in nearly five years...


	6. Chapter 5

**A/N: I'm sorry I haven't updated in a while. But I was busy with school, and my internet broke. So I was without it for almost two weeks.**

December 1998

Lestrade was on his way home from work, the clock was 6 pm and he was on his way down the stairs to take the tube back home. It was almost five years since he had last seen Sherlock and Mycroft, and the other kids. He wondered where they was. They had probably left London, other ways he would have seen them by now.

Sherlock would be what? Fourteen years old now? Mycroft would be around twenty-two or twenty-three.

As he came down the stairs and began to walk towards the platform, over again he heard music echoing between the walls.

It couldn't be...could it? He walked towards the sound, the train completely forgotten. Soon he saw the source of the sound. It was a tall, slender boy with dark curly hair and pale skin. As he came closer the boy looked up and smiled at him. Lestrade recognised the icy blue eyes and gasped. It was him, Sherlock was back!

"Hello DI Lestrade,"He said and laughed at Lestrade's shocked look." I thought you would come down here eventually, and if you wonder how I knew about your promotion it was obvious, you was really glad today, when you was walking down the stairs you were humming. It couldn't be because of the weather, it is dreadful, and you usually don't hum so something special has happened. In the left corner of your mouth you have cream...oh, don't worry it does not appear that much. Why would you have been eating cream on work? It is not your birthday...nor anyone else's on your department. So you were celebrating something else. Oh let's see you are really glad today, it is not your birthday, and you were celebrating something at work, you have worked at the Yard for almost ten years and are good at it, and I count the fact that you just talked to your girlfriend on the phone, what could be so important that it couldn't wait? You just got promoted...Congratulations DI Lestrade!"

Lestrade opened his mouth to say something, but closed it again. He didn't know what to respond, that was...brilliant. Sherlock was right, even as he didn't really get how he had known, but he had gotten promoted today.

"Oh that was..." Lestrade stopped for a second, not sure how to describe it"...that was amazing!"

Sherlock didn't answer, only looked at him as if he had said something stupid. He opened and closed his mouth several times without saying anything and then looked away, blushing.

"You really think so?" Sherlock asked shocked."Usually people leave when I do that, or they tell me to piss of..."

"Of course I think Sherlock..." Lestrade said. "It was extraordinary."

Lestrade took a closer look at the boy. He had become really tall in this past five years. He was almost as tall as Lestrade himself, at least 6 feet. He was still slender, but not as thin as he had been before. His dark hair was still long, but not as long as it had been last time. He was dressed in a long coat, he always had coat, and dark jeans. His clothes was whole and clean, and it seemed like Sherlock was in a better condition than last time.

"Where have you been Sherlock?" Lestrade asked after a while," It has been five years, I looked after you."

Sherlock didn't answer immediately, he put the violin back in it's case and looked at Lestrade.

"In Brighton." He said.

"Brighton?!"Lestrade cried "Why?"

"Mycroft got a job..." Sherlock said "so we had to move, it was good there and we could get a apartment. I went to school for the first time. It was dull, but Sammy, Ellie and Jackie liked it. When we moved back, Mycroft and I, they stayed. We got back to London about a week ago, and I will start 8th in January..." Lestrade opened his mouth to speak but Sherlock continued before he could get the chance."...and before you ask... we went back to London because Mycroft got a work here."

They talked for a while, but then Lestrade had to go home. It started to get late and he had promised his girlfriend to go out on a date to celebrate his promotion.

"Do not worry DI Lestrade" Sherlock said and waived at him with the violin bow,"I'll be here tomorrow too."

Sherlock raised his bow and began to play a new piece as Lestrade continued to walk towards the platform.

The next day when DI Lestrede went home from work, he looked after Sherlock at the tube station. But he wasn't there, so Lestrade decided to go home.

Lestrade went out of the tube station and started to walk back home. When he was a block from his flat he heard violin music. He didn't really think about until he reached his flat and saw someone waiting for him outside.

"Hello DI Lestrade!"Sherlock greeted without stopping to play."I knew you would show up eventually."

"What...Sherlock...how do you know where I live?"

"Followed you...yesterday..."Sherlock answered and put down his violin."You might not have noticed it...people are idiots after all..."

Sherlock picked up the violin case and started to walk away down the street. He turned around to look at Lestrede and then he continued down the street. He raised his hand to hail a cab.

"Are you coming DI?"He said laughing."I thought you wanted to know where I lived?"

Lestrede smiled and run up to Sherlock just as the boy climbed into a cab. He climbed in after him and they drove of.

After about ten of fifteen minutes the cab stopped. Sherlock paid the cabbie and they climbed out. As Lestrede went out of the cab Lestrede saw that they were in one of the finer neighbourhoods of London. Sherlock walked up to one of the houses and locked up the door. He showed Lestrede inside, it was huge. They walked trough a living room, that was bigger than Lestrades entire flat, into a kitchen. Lestrade sat down at the table and Sherlock started to make tea.

Well that was new. What kind work had Mycroft? If he could afford to live here, Sherlock hadn't mentioned that they lived with anyone else. But they had to, maybe a relative. Surely Mycroft couldn't afford this on his own. He was what, twenty-four? At the most.

"...Wow..."Lestrade said once he had finished looking around the room."You live here?...really?"

"No I don't...I usually walk into others places, make tea and then I leave...especially when I'm with a cop." Sherlock said ironically."...Of course I live here...I'm not a thief and I had a key remember? Don't be an idiot Lestrade..."

He walked over to the table and sat down opposite Lestrade. He gives Lestrade one of the steaming cups.

"So..."Lestrade said, unsure how to continue, and Sherlock wasn't doing anything to help him. He just stared at him with his pale eyes."...What are Mycroft working with nowadays?"

"He has a minor position at the British Government."Sherlock said,"Quite dull..."

They sat in the kitchen and talked for almost two hours before Lestrade decided to go home. He had a few times tried to talk about Mycroft, but Sherlock had immediately changed the subject. When Lestrade asked him about it, he only said that they had a difficult relationship.

It was sad, Lestrade thought. They had had such an nice relationship when they were younger. Now, they had grown apart.

March 1999

It was an early spring evening and Lestrade was on his way home. He hadn't seen Sherlock in a while now. Almost two weeks. After the meeting in December last year they had met reguarly, once or twice a week. Sometimes, when he hadn't seen Sherlock in a while, he had gone to Sherlock's house. But now it had been two weeks... But he didn't worry, not that much at least. He had talked to Mycroft, who had told him not t worry, because Sherlock could take care of himself, and as long as he showed up at school Mycroft did not worry at all.

"When are you proposing to her?"

Even before Lestrade turned around, he knew who it was. Sherlock, who else could it be? Only he would know something like that without asking. Of course he was right. Wasn't he always?

"How did you-" He turned around and stopped in silence as he saw the state of Sherlock.

The boy was standing a few yards behind him, leaning against the wall. The left side of his face was covered in bruises, and he had a black eye.

"Sherlock...what the hell?" He was almost screaming, walking up to Sherlock."Who did this to you?"

Sherlock shrugged as he touched one of the bruises, but he didn't move away. As Lestrade came closer he saw that Sherlock's whole left side was covered in bruises. Black, dark blue, some getting yellow at the edges.

"God Sherlock..." He gasped. " This is bad...Who was it? Don't tell me you fell, I'll know if you lie to me."

"Some boys at school." Sherlock answered" apparently they didn't like to hear that their girlfriends are cheating on them."

"Do you know their names?"

"Yes..." Sherlock looked at him like he was an idiot. Maybe he was, of course Sherlock knew their names. He knew everything about anyone.

"Will you tell me?" If looks could kill he would be stone dead by now.

"...no..." Sherlock said "Why would I?"

"But you have to press charges on them" Lestrade was getting furious."This is assault!"

"I wont press charges" Sherlock said"Whatt good would it do?" He looked at Lestrade.

"Besides..."he said" I've had worse."

"This has happened before?" Sherlock nodded.

"When? Who did it?"

"About six months ago, last time" Sherlock said. "At school, two older students. Broke one of my ribs, cracked two. A year back I deduced that a boy was cheating at his girlfriend. He broke my nose, cracked a few ribs."

"But this time they managed to brake my fingers" Sherlock continued, holding up his left hand. The three middle fingers were in cast."So I can't play the violin for at least a month. It's a shame."

"Have you talked to Mycroft?" Lestrade didn't need to hear the answer to know it."You should, he would care, you know. He could do something"

"I'm sure he would care, he always care. He never leaves me alone. If he would know, he would have me change school. No thank you. You can't tell him. I fell in the stairs at school, that's what I told him."

"You have to tell him"Lestrade said."Or I will"

For the first time Sherlock sounded angry when he answered.

"If you do, I wont forgive you"He said" You wont see me again, you know I'll be able to hide from you. You would never find me."

"Okay, okay..." Lestrade said" I wont tell him"

"So... When are you proposing?"

**A/N: Please, please review so I know what you like and what I can do better.**


	7. Chapter 6

May 2000

It was a late Friday afternoon. Lestrade had just gotten home from the Yard. He was sitting at the table in the kitchen, drinking tea and reading case files.

Sherlock was sitting opposite him. Also drinking tea, and doing his homework. He often was at Lestrade's flat nowadays. He felt like home there, or it was better then home, he said. He didn't want to be with Mycroft.

The first time he had come was in September 1999. when the school started after the summer he had come and asked Lestrade if he could come over to his flat one day after scholl. He had come, done his homework, talked and later in the evening he had gone home.

The next day he asked again, and the day after that.

Now he had stopped asking. He usually showed up outside the Yard when Lestrade quit work. They went to Lestrade's flat together. Even when Lestrade had to stay longer at work, he was there. Sometimes Lestrade had come out at 10 pm, and sat there outside, sometimes on a bench, studying.

They walked to the tube station together. Sometimes Sherlock want home an a cab. Sometimes he followed Lestrade to his place.

He came with Lestrade home, almost, every day. Sometimes he came at weekends too.

But never when Alice was at home, not since the first time they had met.

It had been in November 1999.

He and Sherlock was sitting in the kitchen, as usual. It had been a Wednesday afternoon and they did the usual, drank tea, talked, Sherlock did his homework.

Alice had come home, and he had introduced them.

"Oh...so you are Sherlock." She had said, shaking Sherlock's hand." Nice to meet you. Greg has told me about you. What is it you do? Deducing? What can you tell about me?"

Maybe he should have known it was a bad idea. He knew Sherlock's deductions, if always right, didn't always was nice.

Sherlock had looked at her and immediately deduced that her mother recently had passed away...and that she had been an alcoholic.

Alice had looked at him in shock, before she turned around and ran out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

Lestrade had given Sherlock an angry look before he went after her.

He didn't remember what they had said, but at first he had tried to comfort her, then he had defended Sherlock. He said that she had asked Sherlock to deduce her. He had said that Sherlock probably was autistic, that he didn't understand others feelings.

"I don't care Greg!" She had screamed at him."I want him out of my house, NOW! And don't take that freak back here."

When he got back to the kitchen, it was empty. Sherlock had left.

The next day, Sherlock wasn't waiting for him outside the Yard, nor the day after that.

When Sherlock didn't show up on Monday, he had taken a cab to Sherlock's house.

Sherlock was sitting outside the house when he arrived, even as it was freezing outside.

"Where have you been Sherlock?"

Sherlock had looked at him for a long time before he answered.

"I didn't think you would like a freak in your house..."

"You heard her?" Sherlock gave him the look, the 'you're an idiot' look."Of course you did...she was screaming right...?"

For a long time, no one of them said anything.

"I'm sorry Sherlock... She was angry...she didn't mean it."

"Yes she did... She is not the first one to say it... Most people think I'm a freak."

"I don't."

Now Sherlock only came when Alice was out.

"It wasn't the husband"

"What?" Lestrade looked up from the file he was reading.

Sherlock had stopped doing his homework and was reading one of the case files.

"You heard me"He said, looking closer at one of the pictures."It wasn't the husband who killed her, I said. Yes he was an abusive, sadistic bastard, and he was drunk like hell. But he didn't kill her... He wouldn't be able to, not when he was that drunk. Look at her arms Lestrade. No defence wounds, the killer took her by surprise. Someone as drunk as him wouldn't be able to do that."

"Who was it then?"

"The brother."

"The brother?"

"Yes, the brother. Stop asking questions Lestrade, it makes you look stupid. He wanted the money he would get if she died...oh your wife must be coming home soon, I better leave."

"What...wait...Sherlock!" But Sherlock had already left. Leaving Lestrade in confusion .

He had looked it up later, Sherlock had been right. The brother confessed immediately.

**A/N: Please review. I know this is short but I will update later tonight, or tomorrow.**


	8. Chapter 7

September 2000

It became a tradition of them. Sherlock coming over, looking at the case files, correcting what was wrong.

Sometimes he came to Lestrade's office at the Yard.

Lestrade offered him money. But he never took them.

"I need to see the crime scene, Lestrade."Sherlock said."I wont solve this one otherwise"

They were sitting in the kitchen at Lestrade's flat. It was late in the evening, but Alice wasn't home. She was out with friends.

"You can't look at the crime scenes."Lestrade said signing."It is illegal. I have told you, I shouldn't even show you the files. Besides, you have already told me where me most likely will do it next time. I've sent people out. It wont be an other shooting."

"I know...but it is something I've missed."

None of them said anything for a long time.

Sherlock sat completely still, thinking. Lestrade knew better than to disturb him. When Sherlock went to his 'Mind palace' he could be rather sulky if he was disturbed.

About 11.30 pm Sherlock finally looked up.

"I better be going home"He said standing up."Or Mycroft will send the secret service to find me, again."

Lestrade followed him to the door.

"I'll see you tomorrow?" he asked.

"Yes, I might come to your office after school"

Almost an hour later, when he was asleep, someone knocked on the door.

'Who is visiting at this time at hour?' he thought as he went to open the door.

It was Sergeant Hopkins.

"I'm sorry to disturb you this late, sir." He said."But it has been an other one, sir. An other shooting."

"What? Where?"

"Trafalgar Square sir."

Not more than 10 minutes later, they sat in the car.

Sherlock had been right, even this time.

"How many victims?"

"Only four, sir." Sergeant Hopkins said."One died at the scene. Two of them where transported to hospital."

"And the forth? You said there were four victims?"

"Yes sir, it was. But he is refusing to go to hospital. He says he wants to meet you... We don't know who he is, sir. A boy, maybe 15, or 16 years old."

"Oh god..."

"You know who it is?"

"Yes, I think so. Dark hair, pale skin?" Hopkins nodded."...God...Yes I know him. It is Sherlock Holmes. I have known him for ten years."

They arrived at the scene at 12.50 am.

When Lestrade left the car, he immediately saw Sherlock.

He was sitting at the back of an ambulance. His upper right arm was in bandage, as were his left cheek. He had an orange blanket around his shoulders. He looked completely bored.

"It is no rush Lestrade" he said as the DI ran up to the ambulance." I'm alive, and I know who the murderer is. I saw him."

"I'm sure you did..." Lestrade said, looking closer at the wounds. "Hell Sherlock, I told you not to come. You could have been killed-"

"I wasn't" Sherlock broke him of, standing up and walking away from the scene."The bullet gazed my cheek and my arm, nothing more. Now _please_ Lestrade, can you tell them to let me go home? I really hate hospitals."

**A/N: I know this is a short chapter but I will update later this week. Please review.**


	9. Authors note again

**Okay, this is just an shot authors not. In the next chapter, or maybe the after that I am going to shoot someone. Please review and tell me who you want it to be. Lestrade or Sherlock?**


	10. Chapter 8

**A/N:Okay here is the next chapter. I hope you like how it turned out.**

Mars 2001

He was chasing a suspect, like literally chasing him, through the streets of London, like in one of those Bond films. They were running trough back alleys, small streets. Jumped over fences, pushed people out of the way screaming; Police, out of the way!

It was beginning to get dark. The sun was going down, the sky turning scarlet. The shadows was getting longer. The alleys almost as dark as night, as the high buildings reached up against the sky. Keeping the dim sunlight out. The lamp posts in the alleys didn't make very much different, their faint light wasn't enough to light the whole street up.

The suspect was getting ahead of him, turning around a corner. Lestrade lost sight of him for a moment.

This case had been a hard one. A double homicide, a woman and her daughter. Both were strangled and then shot in the head, bulls' eyes. They had been working on it for almost a month. They had really been needing Sherlock's help on this one. But Sherlock hadn't been in London. Not for almost four weeks now. It was unusual, but then, what was usual about Sherlock?

He had told Lestrade where he was going, four weeks ago from now.

"France?"He had asked."Why?"

Sherlock hadn't really answered him. He had said something about a case. But Lestrade didn't understand what he had meant.

"A case in France? What kind of case? Who did you get it from?"He had asked Sherlock, but the boy hadn't answered.

About an hour ago, he had got a text from Sherlock.

"**Back in London. Arrest the brother – SH"**

Nothing more, only that.

He had looked it up, hell he trusted the boy. Even as it felt weird, Sherlock hadn't even seen any of the crime scenes. Or had he? Lestrade wasn't sure, he never was with Sherlock.

But he had been right, as always, well almost always. But the times Sherlock had been wrong about something in his deductions was so few, that Lestrade cold count them on one hand.

When he and Sergeant Hopkins had gotten to the flat where the brother lived, they first hadn't seen anything suspicious. They had knocked on the door.

"Carl Wilson! His is the police! Open up!"

Then they suddenly had heard a loud bang, from the back of the house. They had run around it, just in time to see the brother of the victim rush away down the street.

Now they were chasing him. Lestrade was fast, but the brother was faster than him. As they dashed around a corner, Lestrade heard that Hopkins was far behind him.

'Great' He thought 'I am on my own then'.

They continued to run, deep into the alleys of London.

Lestrade began to get tired, not very strange, he had been running for at least fifteen minutes now.

Carl Wilson ran around an other corner. And Lestrade speeded up in order not to lose him.

He sprinted around the corner, and stopped dead.

It was a dead end. In front of him, a wall to high to climb. No door leading into a house, nothing.

The alley was empty, only a few containers, nothing more.

He turned around, looked around, confused. Where had Wilson gone?

He then doubled over, breathing heavily.

'God...that was a pain in the ass...' he though' maybe I should start to work out?' he chuckled silently.

Lestrade started to walk back the way he came, he needed to find Hopkins.

He suddenly heard a sound behind him. He turned around. Just in time to see a fist coming towards his head. He ducked. It was the suspect, Carl Wilson.

He drew his pistol, but before he had time for anything else, Wilson kicked him hard on his shoulder and the gun set of across the alley.

He dived for it, but Wilson did the same and the both men tumbled towards the ground.

He punched Wilson in the stomach, and tried to get up again.

But then Wilson threw himself upon him, pinning him against the ground.

Wilson clawed at his throat with his hands, beginning to strangle him.

Lestrade tried to fight him. He clawed at the hands, hit Wilson over and over again. But nothing worked. Wilson only squeezed harder. Smiling, a sick smile. Almost like he was enjoying this, seeing someone dying by his hands.

Lestrade's movements was getting weaker by every second. His sight began to get darker.

He would soon pass out.

Then, suddenly Wilson let go of his neck. He stood up an slowly walked towards the gun, which was a fey yards away from them.

Lestrade rolled over to his side, he tried to stand up. But he was too weak. Ha saw Wilson walking slowly, his vision was still dark, he saw nothing else. Only Wilson and the gun.

He tried to get up again, to scream, anything. But he couldn't.

He couldn't but watch as Wilson, as slowly as before, walked up to the gun and picked it up

Wilson turned against him, the gun in his hand. Aiming at him.

Wilson smiled, his finger on the trigger. He would shoot. Lestrade knew it, he would die.

He didn't want to die, he was too young. He wanted to have children, grandchildren. He wanted to grow old...with Alice.

But instead he would die here, in a dark alley. Alone, too young...helpless.

Then he saw a movement, behind Wilson. He heard someone screaming. He didn't hear what.

He saw how Wilson turned around.

The person behind Carl Wilson punched him on the jaw. Wilson almost fell, he dropped the gun.

The person tried to get to it, but Wilson stuck him on the jaw. The person straggled backwards.

Lestrade's sight was getting lighter again. He saw who the person was, Sherlock.

He tried to get up again. He had to help Sherlock.

Everything was in slow motion. The blood was pounding in his ears.

He saw how Sherlock attacked Wilson, as the man had tried to get to the gun again. The men tumbled to the ground, a dark mass of arms and legs.

They kept fighting. Lestrade finally got up. He began to walk towards them, but it felt like he was running trough water. He couldn't get there fast enough.

Wilson gave Sherlock a hard kick on the cheek and the young boy fell backwards.

Wilson dived for the gun again. Sherlock stood up. He had blood floating from his nose, his upper lip was split in half. A gash across his eye brown. Blood running into his eyes.

Sherlock threw himself at the man, just as Wilson picked up the gun.

They fought over the gun. Wilson was winning. He was turning the gun towards Sherlock, aiming it against his chest.

Time suddenly speeded up again. Lestrade finally got to them.

He punched Wilson at the side of his head. Wilson dropped the gun. It disappeared into the darkness at one of the walls in the alley.

Lestrade dived after it, he couldn't find it.

He heard a choked sound behind him, and then a thump, as if a body dropped to the floor. He turned around.

Wilson was strangling Sherlock. He sat on Sherlock's chest, pinning him to the ground.

The Boy tried to fight him of, but him weak attempts to get the hands away didn't make any different. He clawed at the hands.

Sherlock's face was turning blue.

Then, before Lestrade had time to do anything, Wilson suddenly released him, and he stood up.

He walked over to Lestrade.

They started fighting again, over the gun now. Both of them tried to find it. Everything else was forgotten. Whoever found the gun would win, the other one would lose. Carl Wilson his freedom. Lestrade his life, his wife...everything he cared about.

It was a fight of life and death.

Lestrade hit Wilson on the cheek. The man straggled backwards. Almost fell over.

Lestrade fumbled after the gun, he couldn't see it in the dark. He couldn't find it.

Wilson got up again. He kicked Lestrade in the chest. Lestrade fell to the ground. He landed hard on his back. Gasping for air.

Wilson picked up the gun again. He turned towards Lestrede, with the same sick smile as before on his face. He raised the gun, aiming straight at Lestrade's heart.

"NO!"

Both Wilson and Lestrade flinched at the sudden scream.

Lestrade saw how Sherlock jumped at Wilson. His long black coat fluttering behind him, his arms spread out.

The sound of a gunshot echoed between the walls of the alley.**  
**

**A/N: Cliffhanger...Hope you liked it. Please review so I know if you liked it or not.**


	11. Chapter 9

**A/N: Okay, here is the next chapter. I hope you like how it turned out.**

"_NO!"_

_Both Wilson and Lestrade flinched at the sudden scream._

_Lestrade saw how Sherlock jumped at Wilson. His long black coat fluttering behind him, his arms spread out._

_The sound of a gunshot echoed between the walls of the alley._

Sherlock staggered backwards, one of his arms pressed against his abdomen. The other stretched out, trying to find something to hold on to. Lestrade couldn't see his face, he had his back turned against him, but from the sicken sound, something between a cry and a moan, he understood that he was in pain.

Everything in the alley seemed like it had stopped.

Wilson stood there, with the gun still raised, almost looking shocked.

Lestrade lay on his back, still gasping for air. He stared at Sherlock, who now slowly had started to turn around.

He faced Lestrade, his eyes wide open. His pale eyes staring straight through him, filled with pain. His mouth open, screaming a silent scream. His right hand was pressed against a wound in his lower chest. Blood, so much blood was streaming through his fingers, soaking his coat.

"...Lestra-" He began, but was forced to stop. He started to cough, his whole frame shaking. His face strained with pain."...p'ease..."

Then his knees buckled beneath him, and he fell to the ground, landing with a thud and a weak groan of pain.

"Sherlock!" Lestrade screamed, starting to get up.

He had to get to him, to help him. But he stopped as he suddenly was staring straight into the barrel of a gun. Wilson was standing in front of him, no longer looking shocked. He was smiling again.

"I wouldn't think so..., stay where you are..."He said moved closer, pressing the gun against Lestrade's forehead."...One move and I will shoot, first you...and then the boy."

He smirked as he saw the expression on Lestrade's face. He knew that Lestrade knew. Wilson wouldn't let them live, even if Lestrade did what he wanted.

"Okay Wilson, let's think about this..." He said slowly, raising his hands in defence."...You have already killed two people, you don't want to kill two more. Not a cop, and especially not him, his brother would make you disappear with a flick of his finger..."

"They wouldn't find me."Wilson said, the gun trembling in his hand."I don't want to go to prison...I- you know what happens to guys like me in prison. I wouldn't survive..."

"Y-You...'ll only...make ...'t worse..." Both of them looked at Sherlock in surprise as he spoke. He was still laying on the ground, on his side, arms pressed against the wound, looking straight at them. "You...know...'m right...Killing a cop...you would...never...ge-...t out... I...understand...why...you... did it. Killed your...sister...I mean... You father...hated you...abused you...didn't he? But not her... never her...h-he loved...her... And she...didn't do any-...thing...to stop him...the...little girl...only... got in...the way...She saw...you..."

He probably would have continued, but then he started coughing again. Blood speckled his lips, ran down his cheek. He squeezed his eyes shut.

Wilson turned against Sherlock. His whole arm trembling as he aimed the gun at him.

"Shut up!"Wilson screamed, his eyes looking wild, flickering around the alley."SHUT! UP! You don't know a thing about me..."

"...He abused...you...for a...long...time...years...And she... didn't care...daddy's...girl...didn't do anything...even...as you...begged...her. You...begged her...didn't you...to...make...him stop-"

"Shut up!"Wilson cried, wavering the gun."I will shoot you...you and your DI friend..."

"Okay Wilson"Lestrade said, slowly standing up, his hand raised."Let's think about this..."

"Don't come any closer...I'll shoot!" Wilson turned around, aiming at Lestrade again.

His whole body was trembling. 'He is losing it...' Lestrade thought.

"Just let me help him...please..." Lestrade said, looking at Sherlock's trembling form.

Sherlock was pale as a ghost, paler that Lestrade had ever seen him. He was laying on the ground, breathing with short, painful breaths. Silent, except from a whimper, that occasionally escaped his lips. His pale eyes was staring, straight at Lestrade. But it was like he didn't see him. He was staring through him. Sherlock was barely conscious any more.

"He's dying...please let me help him." Lestrade started to walk against Sherlock again, but stopped as Wilson wavered the gun at him."Please let me help him..."

"NO! Stay where you are..."

"Carl Wilson listen to me." Lestrade said as calm as he could."I have backup arriving soon. And then you will have no chance. We know who you are. If you kill us, it would only get worse. You don't want to have two more persons lives on your conscience."

Lestrade really hoped that Hopkins would find them soon, he must have heard the gunshot.

"Give me the gun Carl... you don't want this..." He moved a little closer again, one of his hands out retched."Give me the gun. Please."

"I said stay where you are!"Carl Wilson screamed, but he was starting look unsure now. Like he was afraid."Stay...I will shoot..."

"Think about this Carl..." Lestrade said with calm voice."...Give. Me. The gun..." He moved a little closer.

"I'm warning you...don't come any closer..."

Lestrade ignored him. He slowly moved closer. His left hand up in the air, his right retched out against the gun.

"Please, give me the gun...and I will make sure you get a good lawyer...I can't do that if you shoot. Give me the gun please, at least let me help him..."

"No...stay where you are...I don't want to go to prison..."

Lestrade looked at Sherlock again. He was even paler now, almost white. A puddle of blood was forming around him, and it kept growing. He had his hands against the wound, but was too weak to keep pressure. Blood was leaking between his fingers. He wasn't conscious any more. He was slowly bleeding out.

"Please... let me help him..." Lestrade said," Please, or he'll die. You don't want this Carl... He hasn't done anything against you... Please... he's just a kid..."

It looked like Carl Wilson was thinking about it, his grip around the gun loosed a little. His eyes were flickering around the alley again. Then he stretched himself up, holding the gun tighter again.

"...No...I would die..." He aimed the gun straight at Lestrade's heart."I wont go to prison..."

"Now think about this..." Lestrade said calmly, stopping his track. Both hands raised.

"I'm sorry..." Carl Wilson whispered, and Lestrade saw his finger slowly starting to squeeze the trigger.

BANG!

**A/N: Cliffhanger! Please review and tell me what you think of it.**


	12. Chapter 10

**A/N: Okay, here is the next chapter. I know it has been a while since I updated, and I don't even have an excuse for it! But here it is and I hope you like it.**

Lestrade flinched as he heard the gunshot. Soon the bullet would hit him. Soon. He waited for it, the bullet to hit. He hoped he would die soon. That it would end quickly. He didn't want it to hurt, it probably would. He hoped that Wilson would shoot Sherlock too, out of mercy. He didn't want Sherlock to bleed to death, slowly, and painfully. Maybe he was dead already.

But the bullet never hit him. He watched in shock as Carl Wilson suddenly spread his eyes wide open. Then he fell to the ground, quiet, not a sound left his lips. He hit the ground with a muffled thud. The pistol rattled away across the asphalt.

Lestrade turned his head to the right, and looked into the small street. It was Sergeant Hopkins. He stood there, pistol in his hands. Lestrade had never been more happy to see the young man.

"Call 999 Hopkins!" Lestrade cried as he ran up to Sherlock.

He fell to his knees, and rolled the boy over so he lay on his back. He moved Sherlock's hands away from the wound, and put his own over it. As he pushed down Sherlock whimpered and slowly opened his eyes.

"'estr'de... 'rts..." He whispered, his voice barely audible.

Blood speckled his lips. His skin was so pale, almost white. His breath was coming out short and shallow. His eyes were flickering all over Lestrade's face, struggling to find focus. They found Lestrade's eyes and locked with them. His eyes were glassy. Tears streamed from them.

"...'stra-de... t'red..."

He weakly lifted a trembling arm gripped the front of Lestrade's shirt. His bloody fingers were colouring the fabric crimson.

"I know Sherlock..." Lestrade said, trying to keep his voice steady. " Just stay awake... An ambulance is coming."

Sherlock's eyes started to trail away, his eyelids closing.

"Hey Sherlock! Look at me..." Sherlock's eyes flickered open again."There you go... stay awake... you'll be okay... You hear me?"

Sherlock nodded and fastened his grip on the shirt.

"...scare-...'urts..." Sherlock whimpered, his words barely understandable.

He starts coughing again. Blood stains his lips, runs down his cheek. Lestrade takes his left hand and wipes it away. As he puts it back on the wound, Sherlock grasps his hand. His fingers slick with blood. Grasping his hand weakly. He squeezes it back.

Lestrade looks up and sees Hopkins standing opposite.

"When is- How long will it take for the ambulance?"

"It is ten minutes away, sir..."

He looks back at Sherlock, his eyes has started to close again. He struggles to keep them in focus. The grip around Lestrade's hand is weakening.

"Hey...Sherlock... You with me...?" Sherlock opens his eyes again. Staring weakly at Lestrade with glassy eyes.

"...'ook...'strade..." Sherlock coughs before he continues."...stars... 'eautiful..."

"...sshh...don't talk Sherlock"

Sherlock stays quiet, everything is quiet. Far away. In an other world, most likely, they can hear cars driving along the road. But they don't matter. They haven't heard the shot, they don't know that in one of the dark alleys, an 17 year old is dying. Shot, saving the only person who really matters. They go on with their lives. The people in the cars, the cabs, the buses. All of them, happy, unknowing about the horrible that happened only a block away.

Then there are sirens. Coming closer. Soon the ambulance will be here, five minutes maybe... More...less, Lestrade doesn't know. He hopes it is less.

"Hopkins!" He cries, and looks up at the Sergeant."Go out to the main road and meet up the ambulance."

Hopkins nods, and then they're left alone. He and Sherlock.

As Sherlock's grip around his hand weaken even more he looks down at him. Sherlock's eyes have closed again. He taps the boy's cheek.

"Stay awake Sherlock, don't sleep..." He says, Sherlock's eyes opens slowly.

"Was'nt... Just...resting..." Sherlock mumbles.

The sirens was getting closer, they would be here any minute. Soon. 'Sherlock will be fine. He will be okay. He must be.' Or Lestrade wouldn't be able to forgive himself. It would be his fault if Sherlock died, he wasn't suppose to be here at all. But he was, and he had saved Lestrade's life.

" 'm... tired...L'stra'e..."Sherlock's eyelids flicker, his eyes locking with Lestrade's.

The pale eyes found the dark. The dark ones glassy with tears, but still filled with life. The pale, also glassy. Filled with fear. The light in them fading.

"I-...I'll...I want...to go'ome... I think... I'll...just..." He closed his eyes, his head slumped to the side. He drew a shuddering breath.

Then nothing.

"No-...don't do this to me..." Lestrade cried, placing his fingers towards Sherlock's neck. Looking after a pulse. Finding nothing."...Don't...Don't do this..."

He placed his hands on Sherlock's chest. Starting chest compressions.

He breathed for Sherlock. His lips tasted of blood. They were were cold. So cold.

The paramedics came, they forced him out of the way. Continued the chest compressions. Loaded Sherlock on a stretcher. They carried him into the ambulance.

Lestrade climbed in after them. They drove of.

Sherlock still wasn't breathing on his own. They continued the CPR.

"He's breathing..."

Sherlock's eyes flickered open. They danced around the ambulance. Without finding anything to focus on. They found Lestrade. Fear filled them. He winced in pain as the paramedics tried to stop the bleeding.

"...'strade...?" His voice was weak, filled with pain. And fear.

His right hand lay beside him, opening and closing. Weakly searching for something to hold on to. Lestrade reached forward, and placed his hand in Sherlock's. Sherlock squeezed it weakly. Looking his eyes with Lestrade's.

The pale found the dark again.

"Shh...It's okay Sherlock... You'll be okay... I'm here..."

**A/N: Oh a little bit cheesy in the end. But I hope you liked it. Please, please, please review. When you review I get happy and when I am happy I update. So please please.**


	13. Chapter 11

**A/N: This is not the best I have written. But I hope you like it anyway. I will update as soon as possible.**

Lestrade jerked awake. He hadn't meant to fall asleep. He looked over to the hospital bed, where Sherlock lay. The boy was still unconscious since the surgery. The heart monitor beside the bed beeping in slow steady beeps.

They were alone in the room, so Mycroft probably still hadn't seen his message. Hell of a brother he was. Hadn't he even noticed that Sherlock was missing? Lestrade looked at his clock. 4:30 in the morning. Two hours since Sherlock had come out from surgery. Six and a half since they had arrived at the hospital. That would be about six hours since he first had called Mycroft. He still hadn't answered.

Lestrade jawed and rubbed his temples, trying to stay awake. He shifted so he sat more straight up in the uncomfortable plastic chair he was sitting in. he didn't want to fall asleep again. He wanted to be awake when Sherlock woke up.

His phone chimed in his pocket. He picked it up and looked at the number.

Mycroft, finally.

He stood up and walked out from the room before he picked up. In the doorway he turned around, and glanced back at Sherlock. But the boy was as still as before, he didn't show any signs in waking up any time soon.

"Where the hell have you been?" Lestrade screamed.

He, and Mycroft, was standing outside the hospital. When Myroft had called him about an hour ago, he hadn't said anything else than asked, well he hadn't asked, he had demanded Mycroft to come to the hospital.

He had met him outside, he didn't want to scream at him inside. It was still pretty early.

"I've been calling you for six hours, six hours Mycroft!" Mycroft simply looked back at him."Did you even notice that Sherlock never came home yesterday? Huh? You must have gotten my messages I even sent."

"I did-" Mycroft began but Lestrade didn't let him continue.

"So you got the messages? But you decided not to come?"

"I was taking care of a different matter..."

"And what, what is more important than your own brother?"

"I can't tell you."

"Oh... I'm sorry... It must be one of those government secrets! Tell me Mycroft... did you even notice that your brother have been in France for four weeks? Did he tell you? Or was it like last time... When he went to a crime scene, and got shot at! And it was I that told you, because he didn't want to. And still you couldn't get back home to see how he was doing, no... Because your work is more important. Is that what you think?!"

"Of course not!" Mycroft cried."I was in Canada! I got back as soon as I could."

Suddenly Lestrade felt bad for Mycroft. The young man looked like hell, his hand was shaking as he tried to stay calm. Lestrade had known the brothers Holmes long enough to know that they usually didn't show any emotions. Now, Mycroft was close to losing the calm frame he almost always had. He was blinking fast, trying to keep the tears from streaming down his cheeks.

"...Hey..."Lestrade said putting a hand on Mycroft's shoulder."I'm sorry...I just... I got angry..."

They walked inside the hospital, and up to Sherlock's room.

He was still asleep. Lay motionless in the bed. He and Mycroft sat down beside it. He took Sherlock's hand in his again. They sat there in silence. Just waiting.

He was starting to fall asleep when he jolted awake. First he wasn't sure what had woken him up. But then he felt Sherlock's hand closing around his. He squeezed it back.

Beside him Mycroft had woken up too.

Sherlock slowly opened his eyes. They flickered around the room, analysing it. Taking in every detail.

He looked at Lestrade and Mycroft and grinned.

"You look like hell... Lestrade..." He said. " And Mycroft... no national crises to take care of?"

"...I on the other hand... is leaving." He continued, starting to sit up.

Lestrade placed a hand on his shoulder, pushing him back.

"No...your not."He said." You are staying here for at least a week. Doctors orders."

"You can't make me stay-"

"Yes I can-"

"I would escape."

"I would...handcuff you to the bed."

"Really Lestrade...you think that would stop me?"

"No...not really..."He signed." I will stay here."

Sherlock grinned even wider.

"You can't keep an eye on me forever. You need to sleep...eat."

"So do you..."

"No I don't."

Four days later, Sherlock still was in the hospital. Lestrade stayed with him. He hadn't left the room more than to go to the bathroom. He had slept when Sherlock did. Only left the room if he was sure that Sherlock wouldn't be able to leave while he was gone. He handcuffed Sherlock to the bed, only to make sure it would take him a few minutes to leave the room.

He looked back at Sherlock, he was sleeping. Maybe he could go get that cup of tea he needed so much. He picked up the handcuffs again. He really hated that he had to use them, but he wanted to make sure that Sherlock stayed. He was still weak after the surgery, and the blood loss.

Three minutes later he when he was walking towards the coffee shop, his phone chimed in his pocket. He picked it up. It was a text. Unknown number.

"**See you soon Detective Inspector – SH"**

He stared at the phone for a few seconds, then he ran back to Sherlock's room. It was empty. The handcuffs lay on the bed. Along with a piece of paper. He picked it up.

_'You see but you don't observe DI!'_

Of course, Sherlock had tricked him. Again. He hadn't been asleep at all. And Lestrade had fallen for his trick again.

**A/N: Please review, as I said before; reviews makes me happy and when I am happy I update. **

**And if you want to, I would be happy if you come with some suggestions for what could happen next. He wont start taking drugs for a few years, but something else maybe. I would love to hear your ideas. **


	14. Chapter 12

March 2001

When Sherlock escaped from the hospital he had stayed away for almost a week. Lestrade hadn't seen him. Mycroft hadn't either. But he wasn't worried.

Sherlock had sent him a text every day. Telling him that he was alive. And bored. Later Lestrade figured out that he probably sent them only because he didn't want Lestrade to start looking for him.

But one Saturday afternoon when Lestrade got back to his office, Sherlock was sitting there in his chair. Reading case files. He looked up as Lestrade walked in, throwing the file he had been reading on the table.

Lestrade wasn't that surprised to find him there. He usually just showed up, and Lestrade was used to it.

"So... You decided to come back then?" He said and sat down in the other chair."Where have you been Sherlock? You can't just... escape from the hospital like that. I got worrie-"

"I could. I just did." Sherlock answered, picking up an other file, starting to read it."You should be happy that I came by. I don't understand how you idiots have managed without me."

"There is no need for insults. I already know that you are far more clever than me..." Lestrade replied ironically." You know that is not what I meant. That you could, don't mean that you should. How are you anyway? Have you even seen a doctor? You have to let them look at the wound."

"I'm fine! It has healed properly, I took care of it on my own. Like I always do. As I always will. You know I don't like hospitals..."

"Yeah... and I also know you're pretty much an idiot. At least let me look at it. Or I'll call Mycroft. He would get you to do it."

"You wouldn't..."

"Are you ready to risk it? I would do it... in fact I will... if you don't let me look."

"Okay! Look at it... if you really have to. Then let me look at some new case files. I'm bored and this ones..." He pointed at the case files at the table."I've already solved them."

June 2001

He and Sherlock was sitting at the table in the kitchen. They were drinking tea as usual, and reading case files. Sherlock solved the ones they had failed to. And he helped with the new ones.

"I need to see this crime scene." Sherlock said.

"Mmm..." Lestrade answered."I'm sure you want. But you can't. Case files. No crime scenes. That's our deal."

Sherlock signed and tossed the case file on the table.

"I'm not sure you heard me Lestrade. I need to see it. If it is with you, or by my self...It doesn't matter. I will go and see it. If I am right, and I am, they will have left a clue. You missed it. I were at the previous crime scenes, the earlier. I found the clue there. That was how I could figure out where they would go next. It is obvious isn't it?"

"No... not really..." Lestrade said confused.

Sherlock completely ignored him, but that wasn't something new. He continued to talk, explaining something. Lestrade didn't really listen. He knew that Sherlock would explain it again, later. It was only a matter of time.

"...there was no sexual motives at all and-..." Sherlock suddenly stopped, and looked at him."...you aren't listening are you..?"

Lestrade smiled at him and picked up the case file from the table. He started to read trough it. Looking closer at the pictures.

"No... I wasn't..." He said, picking up one of the photos."But I believe you..."

As he looked up from the picture, he saw that Sherlock had stood up and was starting to leave.

"...Hey! Where are you going?" He shouted after him.

Sherlock turned around in the doorway.

"The crime scene, the murderers probably will go back there... and as you didn't want to go, I am going there alone." He said and with a flick of his coat, which he still wore even as it was warm outside, he ran out the front door.

"Crap! Sherlock wait!"

He got up from the chair and followed Sherlock out on the street. He swore when he got outside at the street and Sherlock was nowhere to be seen. That boy was really good at hiding when he wanted to. He stood there, searching for Sherlock among the people that were walking down the street. But nowhere he saw the curly mop of dark brown hair, or the long coat. He cursed again and picked up his phone. He was just about to call Sherlock when he sighted him at the corner of the street.

The boy walked around the corner and Lestrade started to run after him, trying to catch up with Sherlock. If he lost him, it wouldn't be good. Sherlock, as careless as he could be, probably would find the team and confront them himself. That wouldn't be good. He didn't want Sherlock to get shot again. And this pair of murderers had shown signs on being really violent.

One of them clearly a psychopath, the other a sadist. Together they created the perfect murder team. They enjoyed watching other people in pain. To torture them. To kill them, slowly. All the victims had been cut, with knives. Some of them had died from the blood loss. The others had been strangled. Totally this, insane, pair of humans had killed twelve young men and women, in the time of nine months. The youngest, hadn't been more than 17 years old. The oldest 31.

Lestrade couldn't catch up with Sherlock for a long while. He was always one street ahead.

But after almost 15 minutes of chasing Sherlock trough the streets. The boy finally stops. Now they are about one block from the crime scene. Sherlock stands with his back against the wall when he catches up.

Lestrade doubles over, puts his hands against his knees, panting. Sherlock is looking at him and smiles. And Lestrade knows by the look on his face that he had knew all along that Lestrade was following him.

"You...really...couldn't...wait...could you?" He said, breathing deeply between every word.

"No..."Sherlock answered, grinning at him."But I felt you might need it."

"So...you are saying... that I'm getting fat?"

Sherlock didn't answer him. 'So he did imply I'm getting fat.' Lestrade thought as he followed Sherlock as the boy started to walk towards the crime scene.

They stopped when they got to the street corner a the crime scene. Or rather, Sherlock stopped and forced Lestrade to, before he could go around the corner.

"What now!"Lestrade whispered"Didn't you want to see the scene?"

"Yes... I did. But it wont do any good if you stumbles in and chase away the killers."

"They are here?!" Lestrade hissed. "You can't be – "

"Ssshh... be quiet..." Sherlock answered, barely loud enough to be heard, clapping his hand over Lestrade's mouth.

He looked around the corner and without any warning, he leapt around the corner. Starting to run down the street.

Lestrade started to run after him, and was just in time to see Sherlock chasing a man and a woman around the corner of the street.

'Really Sherlock? Again?' He thought as he speeded up to keep up with the others.

The chase didn't last for long. As he ran into an alley, not very far from Scotland Yard, he almost ran straight into the man.

The man, 35 maybe 40 years old, blond short hair, brown eyes, and a weird grin on his face, held his left arm around Sherlock's neck. The other held Sherlock's hands behind his back. The woman stood beside him. She was a bit younger, 30 maybe. Long red wavy hair, bright blue eyes. She would have been pretty, if it wasn't for the sicken smile on her face. Or the fact that she had a gun aimed at Sherlock's head.

"You really don't...want to do that-" Sherlock croaked, then he man fastened the grip around his neck and Sherlock let out a choked sound.

As they saw that he came closer, they backed up, practically dragging Sherlock behind. The boy's lips was turning blue. He was gasping for air.

Lestrade raised his hands, he could do little else. 'God, I knew it was a bad thing to do, I don't even have my gun.' As he did so the man loosened him grip around Sherlock, only a little. But now the boy could breath again.

"You're from the police? Right? I saw you, in the newspaper." The man said. "You let us go... and I'll let him live..."

Lestrade was just about to answer when Sherlock jerked his head backwards. Smashing it into the man's nose. The man yelped in surprise and realised him. Before the woman had time to understand what had happened, Lestrade leapt forward, tackling her to the ground, taking the gun away from her.

He got up, but the victory didn't last for long, the man had grabbed Sherlock again, his nose was bleeding, broken. He had a gun pressed against Sherlock's temple.

Lestrade grabbed the woman from the ground.

"Think about this. I know you love this woman. If you don't let him go, I will shot her. And then you. Let him go, and she will live." He said as calmly as he could, like he wasn't negotiating over Sherlock's life.

The man bit his lower lip. He was just about to speak when the woman interrupted.

"Don't Jack... Don't listen to him... he wont let us go. He will kill us anyway. But, we can take this boy too. Like the other ones. We can have fun, like before... Trust me. I'll get you out of this. I always do. I love you... don't listen to him. He will kill us. But if we go down fighting, we'll always be together..."

"Don't listen to her Jack. She doesn't love you! She want you to walk towards an certain death. She's a psychopath, she can't feel love. She only cared about what you could do..."

He could see that Jack was thinking. He was backing away, dragging Sherlock after him.

"Stay where you are. I'll shoot her."

"NO! Don't... please..." Jack cried."I'll let him go, please don't shoot her."

He realised Sherlock, dropped the gun to the ground. Then he sat down and started crying. He sat there until backup came. It was strange, seeing a grown man crying. Especially as the woman didn't seem to care, even as she only minutes ago had confessed her love to him. It made Lestrade think. Maybe Jack wasn't really a bad person. He loved that crazy woman. But still, he wasn't really ready to kill Sherlock for her. He was afraid for her, to let her down. It was almost as he was her slave. When she had told him to shut up, he had stopped immediately, looking up at her, fear in his eyes. He had mumbled something. It sounded like; "I'm sorry Miss."

Of course Sherlock had refused to go to the hospital or even to be examined by the paramedics.

**A/N: This chapter was a bit longer than the other ones. I hope you like it. Please review and please tell me if you have any ideas for chapters.**


	15. Chapter 13

September 2001

It had been over two months since the case with the weird couple that tortured people. It had been two calm months. No mysterious murders, no kidnappings. Lestrade would call it two good months, if you asked Sherlock you would get a completely different answer.

03:45 am, Lestrade got a text from one Sherlock Holmes.

"**Lestrade? Got any cases? – SH"**

Five minutes later, just as he was getting back to sleep, his phone chimed again. Twice.

"**Bored. – SH"**

"**Need a case Lestrade. Give me a case. – SH"**

Lestrade rolled his eyes before he replied. He was starting to regret that he gave his last phone to Sherlock. Since then the boy had started to text him constantly.

"**I don't have any. Told you last night. Remember? Get some sleep. And stop sending me texts."**

He didn't even have time to but the phone back beside the bed before it chimed again.

"**Are you sure? – SH"**

"**Anything will do! – SH"**

"**Except dull things... – SH"**

"**Like dull murders – SH"**

"**Or robberies. Or anything else that's dull. – SH"**

" **Or tedious... – SH"**

Lestrade rolled his eyes and groaned. Of course Sherlock wouldn't give up. Beside him Alice rolled over. She cracked her eyes open and looked at him.

"Who is it?" She mumbled not really awake yet.

"...No one." He replied quickly, as he knew that she only would get even more pissed with Sherlock if she knew that he sent Lestrade texts 24/7." Wrong number, I think. Go back to sleep."

Alice rolled over again. A minute later she was fast asleep. Lestrade's phone chimed again.

"**Are you really sure? – SH"**

Lestrade chuckled and typed back an answer.

"**Yes, I am. Go. To. Sleep. I'll see you tomorrow."**

**A/N: I know this chapter is short but I'll update soon. I hope you like it. Please review. And please, please, if you have any ideas for chapters, I would be happy to hear about them.**


	16. Chapter 14

**A/N: Thank you for all the reviews and all the followers and favourites! **

November 2001

Lestrade and Sherlock was sitting in a café, drinking tea and coffee. And of course looking trough old case files. The only reason they were sitting there and not in Lestrade's flat, was that Alice was there, and as she and Sherlock didn't work out very well together, Lestrade thought it was best to not risk anything by letting them be in the same room at the same time.

The last time he had tried that had started pretty good, if you were thinking about who were talking about. Sherlock actually wasn't to blame. He hadn't insulted any of them, in the beginning. Like ha said, it had started good. They ate, and Sherlock even told Alice that her cocking was good. Even if he only did so because of the looks he got from Lestrade.

Then she had asked the question, that completely ruined the evening. Well it hasn't been completely her fault. She hadn't known all the facts. Lestrade hadn't wanted to tell her them, and he didn't feel that he needed to, after all, she and Sherlock hated each other.

"So Sherlock..."She said "What are your parent's doing?"

"I don't know." Sherlock had answered in a bored voice."Don't care."

"You don't know what your parents are doing for a living?"

"No, but I could give it a fair guess. My mother... Well... She's probably at some nightclub right now, looking for someone to follow home. If she haven't overdosed on some drug. As for my father... In prison maybe... Wouldn't surprise me... Or maybe he has finally drunken himself to death. I couldn't care less."

Sherlock had spoken fast, like he always did. Alice was staring at him, and first Lestrade thought that she hadn't heard what Sherlock said, but then she reached right across the table and slapped him right over the face. Sherlock seemed to have seen it coming, because he didn't look surprised. He only brought his hand up to his stinging cheek. But Lestrade was surprised, he hadn't thought that Alice would be happy about the answer she got from Sherlock, but he hadn't expected her to actually hit him.

"You are an awful human being, you know that?" She screamed."How can you speak that way about your parents? Who have done nothing but sacrificing themselves for you? How can you not care? But I would understand if your father have become a drunk, if he has you for a son!"

"Alice! Don-" Lestrade began but Sherlock cut him of.

"For the first, I speak the way I want about my parents. And you know what? They haven't done anything for me but destroying my life. My mother left me and Mycroft in that rotten place with father. And he didn't love us, he didn't sacrifice anything. He hated us. He beat Mycroft, every single day! He had started beating me too." Sherlock spoke fast, with a calm voice, but Lestrade could hear that he was upset. "Then... he threw us out. In the middle of the winter. With nothing but the clothes we wore and mother's old violin, that Mycroft stole from his room. And maybe I am a awful human being, and maybe it was me that was the reason for father's drinking problems. But I don't care, he was never a father to me. I have never haven a father. Not until-"

Phone started ringing, and Sherlock was cut of. They sat in silence an just stared at each other. Then Sherlock suddenly got up, he grabbed his coat, and then he stormed out from the room. Right before he ran out the front door he turned around and spoke directly at Alice.

"Maybe you understand Mrs Lestrade..." He said with an ice cold voice. "After all, your father was an abusive drunk too, wasn't he?"

The sympathy that had been in Alice's eyes disappeared. Her eyes overflowed in tears, and then she had run up to their bedroom.

Sherlock left the flat, and left in the kitchen was Lestrade, knowing two secrets he really hadn't wanted to know.

**A/N: It is a pretty short chapter again, but I am planing on doing a longer for Christmas. With Sherlock and Lestrade, and maybe Alice and Mycroft celebrating Christmas together! If you have any ideas for Christmas gifts, you're free to write and tell me about them. Lestrade's gift to Sherlock I already know, but the others I have no idea about. And if you have any other ideas I would be happy to hear about them. Whether it is about the next chapter or something else. Please review!**


	17. Chapter 15

**A/N: I am SO sorry that I haven't updated! It have been much in school, aaand... I have found a new obsession... GLEE. So I haven't had time to write. And when I did... I didn't really do what I promised to do. But I tried to write a Christmas chapter, and I kept getting stuck. So here it is, an other chapter. Hope you like it. Thank you for all the comments, favourites and follows! :)**

November 2001

It had been two weeks since that dinner now. Lestrade hadn't seen Sherlock since. Sherlock was avoiding him, he usually did when something happened, or if he got upset. He had never been good at showing his emotions, and share them with other people. He had tried to contact Sherlock. He had sent him texts, called him, even gone to his and Mycroft's flat.

Lestrade feared that it was more than that Alice had been a moron towards him. It wasn't like the first time that happened. But, Sherlock had said something that day. A secret, that he might never had trusted anyone with, if it wasn't for the fact that he was upset and angry. He had said that, he never had haven a father. Until... what? What was he about to say? Lestrade had an idea, what it might have been. But it surely couldn't be like that? Sherlock wasn't the type of person who would say something like that, was he?

Lestrade sat at his desk at the Yard, he was working on a really hard case. He really would need Sherlock's help on this one. But then again, Sherlock wasn't there. In fact Lestrade didn't even know where he was. He hoped that Sherlock was in school. But Sherlock rarely was, nowadays.

Lestrade understood though. The other kids hated him, mostly because of the fact that he knew their whole life story by one look. But it wasn't only that. Sherlock was that weird kid, rumours had it that he had been homeless his whole childhood, because not even his father could stand him. Which in one way was true, but they one saw it as an other confirmation of what they all thought, that he was a freak. The fact that he had A's or B's in all the school subjects, didn't make it better.

Once a month or so he would come to Lestrade's flat, with a broken nose, bruises all over his body, and once a broken wrist. That time, he had actually gone to hospital. But he still hadn't told Mycroft. He didn't even need to hide it from him. Mycroft was rarely home. When he was, Sherlock was elsewhere. Sometimes Lestrade had woken up in the morning by Alice's screaming. When he had rushed out of the bedroom to see had happened to her, he had found Sherlock. Sleeping in the couch.

Lestrade looked up as the door to his office opened. It was Sherlock.

"So you decided to show up?"He said as Sherlock sat down, taking a file from the desk.

They sat in silent for a while.

"Sherlock can I ask you a question?"He asked.

"I believe you just did Lestrade..."Sherlock answered, still reading."But you have my permission to ask an other."

So he asked Sherlock why, why did he despise Mycroft so much? It wasn't the usual hate/love kind of thing that usually was between siblings. No. Sherlock really didn't like Mycroft, at all. When they were younger, right before they disappeared for five years, he had talked to Sherlock. He had asked him what he wanted to become when he grew up. And the ten years old boy had looked at him, and said with a proud smile on his face; "I want to be like Mycroft." He had admired his big brother, more than anyone else. Now, he nearly hated him.

First Sherlock didn't answer him. He just kept sitting opposite, reading the case files. Lestrade wasn't even sure if he had heard him, until Sherlock looked up.

"He..."Sherlock started, but he didn't continue.

Lestrade looked up from the file he had been reading, and looked over at the boy. He barely could be called a boy any more. He was a young man now, in less than two months, he would be 18.

"He doesn't understand."Sherlock said.

"Doesn't understand what?"

"How it is in school! How...every day, I fear to go there... because I know how much they hate me. How I every day have to watch my steps and be on my guards, all the time. Because I know that if I do something wrong, anything wrong, they'll make it to something more to bully me about. If I get an A on a test, I am the teacher's pet. I have tried to make friends... I have. But- I'm always the idiot nobody likes. And I have tried to speak to Mycroft about it, but he is never home. I have called him, but he has never time to talk! Ever." Sherlock was almost screaming now, but he avoided looking Lestrade in the eyes."He doesn't understand! Mycroft has always been loved in school. He becomes friends with everybody. And I-."

Sherlock's voice broke, he looked away. But Lestrade could see tears, watering his eyes. They didn't stream down his cheeks, and if he hadn't been looking for it, he probably wouldn't have seen it, but they were there.

"You what?"He asked, grabbing Sherlock's arm as he made it to walk away."Hey... stop don't walk away from me... Tell me what's wrong."

Sherlock's answer were so quiet that Lestrade barely heard it.

"I-I just want a friend..." He whispered, for the first time looking at Lestrade."...Why do you even care?"

"Of course I care!" Lestrade replied surprised."You are my friend..."

"No... you're not..." Sherlock mumbled in response.

"Come again?" Surely he hadn't heard right.

"I don't have friends..."Sherlock hissed.

"No... you don't." He said, not caring about the roughness in Sherlock's voice."You have one... Me."

He smiled, but it faded at Sherlock's answer.

"You are not my friend."

He didn't even care to hide the hurt in his voice when he replied.

"Oh...okay then..."He said, standing up."Make sure you lock the door after you when you leave the office."

He was just leaving the room as Sherlock called him back.

"Lestrade wait!"He ignored the boy, and kept walking."Stop please!"

He stopped for a second in the doorway, Sherlock had never really asked him for anything before, only demanded him to do things. Then he started walking again. He could hear Sherlock behind him.

"Stop, Lestrade."Sherlock called after him, almost pleading."Please, I'm sorry. Stop!"

Lestrade ignored him. He started to feel a little bad for it. But it hurt that Sherlock thought so little about him. That he didn't count him as his friend. Only a few months ago, Sherlock had leapt in front of a bullet for him. What had happened to change that?

"Dad!"

The shout made him stop in chock. He spun around and saw that Sherlock had stopped too. Other people in the office had stopped their work and were looking at them curiously.

Sherlock looked like he wanted to disappear.

"I-I should go..." He said, pushing past Lestrade.

Lestrade stopped him before he could leave.

"Sherlock stop!"The boy turned around, but he didn't look up. His eyes were fixed at the floor.

"What did you mean? When you said that I weren't your friend?"

Sherlock looked up at him, his watery eyes meeting Lestrade's. He bit his lip.

"You... You aren't my friend... you are something more. Something closer. You are the first one who I have ever seen as a role model. I-I see you as a father... I hope... that you are okay with that... I have never haven a father. Not until I met you..."

Lestrade looked at the boy for a moment before he, despite Sherlock's vague protests and the other people's staring eyes, drew him into a hug.

"I am okay with that."He whispered in Sherlock's hair as the boy hugged him back."More then okay. I am more than happy to see you as my son Sherlock, I always have been."

**A/N:Hope you like it, please review. :)**


	18. Authors note SORRY!

**AN: So... what can I say to defend myself now? First of all, I am _really _sorry for keeping you waiting for so long. If I should be totally honest, which I will, I actually forgot I had this story for a while. Probably because I got into a huge writer's block considering this fic. Again I am sorry. But I can assure you, it isn't abandoned. Just on hold for a while, until I get ideas.**

**There for I ask YOU for help. Please can you review and give me ideas for what could happen next. I already know what _will_ happened. But that is a few years into the story, so if you don't want me to make a time leap a few years... please give me ideas. I am working on a chapter right now. And I will try to update it next week. I have the idea, but I still have to get it into paper.**

**Please don't loose hope in the story. I haven't, and wont abandon it.**

**And thank you for reading the story, and for having patience with it.**

**Sorry again for taking so long! :(**


	19. Chapter 16

**AN: So here is the next chapter. Again I am sorry for taking such a long time updating. But if you keep giving me ideas it might not take so long next time. Thank you for your reviews, and for your ideas. I will take a look at them and see what I can do.**

**I would like you to take a vote. Should I continue the fic like I have done before with a few months passing in the story between each chapter. Or should we take a leap forward? It would in that case be about two years. Until the time when Sherlock first start doing drugs.**

**Please tell me what you think.**

**Hope you like this chapter. Please review!**

April 2002

Since the incident in the office, Sherlock was different. He didn't talk as much as he used to, and Lestrade figured that he was embarrassed about what he had said. About letting his secret slip like that.

Lestrade let him be, he couldn't decide what Sherlock would do, he was eighteen now. Grown up. Not the little boy he had met in the subway any more. He was different now, stronger, more... mature, in some ways. But he was still young.

Sherlock had an own flat now. If you could call it a flat, he had refused to use any of Mycroft's money, so he had rented a small flat, with his own money (Lestrade didn't know where he got the money, he hoped he didn't steal it). A _really_ small flat. It wasn't more than a bedroom and a small kitchen, and a very small bathroom. It was more like a room than a flat really. But Sherlock liked it, and that was what counted. But he still came to Lestrade's house a few times a week, when Alice wasn't at home.

The last few weeks though, he hadn't been around much. He had refused to take cases, he said he was busy.

"With what?" Lestrade had asked, but Sherlock had only smirked and left without any word.

A few days ago, he had found a website, Sherlock's website; The science of deduction.

He was asking for cases.

Up until now, he and the other polices on Scotland Yard had coped just fine on their own. But now, on this case, they hit a dead end. Six young women, between the ages of 18 and 26 had been raped and then murdered during the last six months. The cause of dead had always been different. One had been shot in the head, another had been beaten to death with a baseball bat. No DNA on the crime scenes, no fingerprints. Nothing connecting the victims.

The murders where brutal, random. Like the women where killed just for the sake of it. The only thing connecting the crimes where a single white rose that was left on the crime scene. It was always left in the victims right hand. As if she had clenched it in her hand right before she died.

They had no leads, no suspects.

And this morning, another young girl had been found, this time she was only 15 years old. She had been raped and then strangled to death with her own scarf, which was found on the crime scene.

Lestrade had sent Sherlock a text this morning, asking him to come. He had even sent him the address so he could come to the crime scene. But nothing, Sherlock hadn't even bothered answering.

Lestrade was just about to leave the crime scene, and get the poor girl sent to the morgue so her parents could see her, when a young woman came up to her. At first he didn't recognise her, but then he remembered. She was the new intern on his department. Sally Donovan was her name. Clever girl, probably could become an excellent police.

"Detective Inspector Lestrede" she said, "There is a man here to see you. He says he is from FBI..."

Lestrade didn't want to, he was tired. He had been there for hours and it was the end of his shift. But, he knew he had to go and talk to the man, whatever FBI now wanted.

When he first saw him, he thought the man looked strangely familiar. But he couldn't place him. And he didn't know what it was about him that did. Lestrade didn't know any Americans, even less any that worked with the FBI. He had short blonde hair, brown eyes, a short beard and was dressed in a grey suit.

"Hello, I am DI Lestrade" he said "You where looking for me?"

The man turned away from the woman he had been talking to.

"Yes, I did," the man said."I were just finished talking with Mrs Hudson here, and I think I have a lead. I-"

"Wait, stop a second there." Lestrade held up his hands." I don't even know your name, or why you are here. The FBI have nothing to do with this case."

"Yes they do." The stranger said, turning around and starting to walk away." Well, come along! Hurry up!" Lestrade hurried after the man as he climbed into a cab."Thirteen months ago, ten girls where found in alleys in Jacksonville Florida. They had been raped and then killed. In their right hand a white rose. Does that sound familiar too you?"

"Yes, I-"

"Yes it does... and now seven women have been killed here."the stranger continued clearly not caring about what Lestrade was about to say."We almost caught him in Jacksonville, he made a mistake. But then he disappeared. And now, a few months later, he is here."

"So you are here to help us solve the case?"

"No. I am here to solve the case. I doubt I will need your help."

"Hey!" Lestrade said," It is my case, you can't just come here and take over. I don't even know your name."

"The name is Mark Brown. I am an agent on the FBI. And you clearly need a coffee otherwise you will get grumpy. Go home, rest and meet me at Scotland Yard in your office at 7 am tomorrow morning and you can fill me in on what you know" The cab stopped and the man climbed out.

Lestrade followed paying the cabbie. But as he came out on the street Agent Brown was gone. Lestrade had no idea where he had gone.

He was just about to call for an other cab so he could go home, when he turned around. He was at his house already.

That night, Lestrade couldn't fall asleep. He was thinking about the murders. And Agent Brown, he was strange. Rude. But even though Lestrade found himself looking forward to meeting him again the next morning.

During the following week, Lestrade didn't see much of Agent Brown. He dropped by the office every morning. Asked of there was anything new. Then he was of again.

It was late in the afternoon, almost precisely a week after meeting Brown when said man ran into the office.

"Come Lestrade!" he said before running out again.

When they came out from the Yard Agent Brown climbed into a black car that was parked in front of the house. Lestrade followed, and he had barely closed the door before the driver pulled out on the road and drove of. Far too fast to be following the traffic rules.

They weren't alone in the car. A woman where there too, but she didn't pay attention to them. She was doing something on her phone.

"Okay you have questions."Brown said, looking out the window.

"Yes, where are we going?"

"221B Baker Street."the agent replied"and before you ask... because I know who it is. And where he is. And that place is 221B Baker Street. And why are we going there alone? Because he is watching the station, and he would find it suspicious if several police cars came running towards him. And finally, why the rush?" he turned towards Lestrade and smiled. "he has a hostage."

The car stopped and Agent Brown ran out of the car and into one of the houses before Lestrade could even get out of the car.

Lestrade pulled out his gun and followed Brown into the house. He was just in time to see him run out the back door.

"Don't follow me Lestrade, take care of Mrs Hudson!"

He found Mrs Hudson in the kitchen, bound and gagged to a chair. He carefully removed the gag and undid the bindings.

"Th-thank you..." she whispered and took Lestrade's hand in hers.

By the time Lestrade got outside, Brown had already caught the suspect.

"Oh there you are!"He said, while cuffing the suspects hands behind his back."I am taking Mr Hudson back to Florida with me at once. He is an American citizens, and Mrs Hudson asked me personally to get him convicted in U.S court."

Then he just left. Before Lestrade even had a chance to progress what he had just said.

Two days later Lestrade called FBI's office in Jacksonville and asked for Agent Mark Brown. There were no such person working there.

So he went to Mrs Hudson and asked her if she knew who the man was.

"Yes"she said"he is such a nice young man. I found his website. I asked for his help. He had such an unusual name... Holmes... Sherlock Holmes..."


End file.
